Routine is for the weaks
by emimix3
Summary: Arthur was a man of routine. A man who loved to order always the same dish in a restaurant. Routine didn't love Arthur, though.


okay so like they're all a bunch of meanies and no one wanted to gimme prompts so i listened to the only sane person here and the only sane red-headed i know  
Gil.  
So, her prompt was "Arthur don't dare to say he likes a new dish in a restaurant". Kinda.

-Sorry for the mistakes, I'm not native

* * *

Arthur was a man of routine. He is employed in the same journal since he began to work, and since the very first day, he ate every lunch in the little restaurant in front of his office. Often alone, sometimes with one or two coworkers rather quiet and not too boring.

And every time, he ordered the same meal. A nice veal chop, perfectly cooked and with potatoes, vegetables or crudités depending his mood. After that, he had a dessert when his budget allowed it, and a coffee. And he was ready to go back to work. (And to survive a night getting drunk in the nearest pub after that)

He really liked this restaurant. The waiters were nice, the street not to loud, the decoration was pretty and the regular customers pleasant.

So this Tuesday, when heading towards "Les Trois Petits Cochons" (-yes, what do you want, he found this name stupid too), he had no idea of the tragedy that was about to happen.

As usual, he sat on the third table on the left, the one next to the window, to see the people walk in the street. He threw nonchalantly his trench on the seat next to his, and waited patiently the waitress to finish with other customers. He liked to wait in silence.

"Oh, Arthur! Didn't know you were here! You should have say, I would have come with you!"

Arthur didn't even have to look up. He knew who it was. Alfred F. Jones, the stupid and useless new journalist, arrived a few weeks ago. Noisy, loud, obnoxious and bloody annoying were the best ways to describe him.

"I would like to eat in _peace_, you know?" The older one harshly said, daring the other to stay here one more second.

Alfred seemed to be totally obvious of that, and rather sat on the seat in front of Arthur's, and began to check out the people in the street.

"Oh, look at this one… She's pretty…"  
"Yes. Nice boobs." Arthur answered mindlessly.  
"God, you're so gross!" Alfred shouted. "You can't just comment on someone's cleavage or something!"  
"I'm not even sorry, little prude American. And you can't just sit down at someone's table against their will. So now, shut up or go the fuck somewhere else."

Alfred seemed offended, but doesn't make a move nor open his mouth again. He read attentively the menu until the pretty waitress arrived, with a smile a little too big to be honest.

"Hello Arthur! You brought someone?" the brunette asked.  
"No, Elizaveta, this someone just randomly popped up." Arthur answered.  
"Hi! My name is Alfred. Nice to meet you!" the American said.

Elizaveta laughed and asked, this time with a real smile:

"Hello! And what do you want to eat, Alfred?"  
"Mmh… There are such weird names on this menu… But I guess I'll try this burger. I mean, if it's the same that the people on the table over here are eating, he looks weird, but it's a burger. And a Coke."  
"Of course it won't be a burger like in MacDonald's, wanker" Arthur groaned. "And for me, Elizaveta, as usual."

The waitress' smile became forced again, and she said hesitantly:

"Er, Arthur… There is a little problem…"  
"Which is?" Arthur asked, fearing what she was about to say.

The seconds seemed mere hours to the English man. He _knew _that the answer will not be pleasant. At all.

"We don't have veal chop anymore."

A tragedy. That was the word. A bloody tragedy.

No more veal chop. At all.

"If I can suggest you the lamb, maybe? Or we have very good salmon…" the waitress tried with hesitation.  
"There is no more veal chop…?"

In all the years he came to this restaurant, he never ate something else than this veal chop. Because there was no need: it was a veal chop made and cooked with love, melting just good and proper in the mouth, accompanied with this sauce full of all the right flavours, marrying the potatoes or the vegetables with so much elegance.

There was no more veal chop. And he was in love with this veal chop.

"Just today!" Elizaveta answered hastily. "A problem with the orders and all…"  
"But… I _can't _eat anything else…"  
"Just order something else dude, there are tons of dishes." Alfred heartlessly offered.  
"You don't understand, Alfred. I _can't _eat anything else. It's out of…"  
"But there are no more veil thing. So you order something else or you don't eat."  
"I can't order something else! What if I don't like it?"

Yes! What if he didn't like what he ate? He loved veal chop, because he _knew _that every time, he will have a mouthgasm. He _knew _he loved it. He _knew _it wasn't a dish whose he would shamefully eat only the half of it.

It was veal chop.

"Well, I'd let you a little piece of my burger. But do something, quickly, I'm so hungry. Give him some salmon thing, I don't want him to eat a lamb lambs are cute."

In front of the lack of reaction of Arthur, Elizaveta just nodded and headed towards the kitchen.

"I won't like it. I will _hate _it." Arthur said in the void.  
"I'm pretty sure it will be good" Alfred answered. "A salmon is a kind of berry no? Because bears eat it."  
"Salmon is fish jackass."  
"Oh, I didn't know. I'm not in fond of poultry."

Arthur rolled his eyes. My god someone just _couldn't _be that stupid.

"Anyway, why are you so sure you will hate it?"  
"Because that's not veal chop. I will hate every food that is not veal chop. That's all."

Elizaveta came with the dishes a few minutes later, apologising in advance before going to other customers.

"Mmh, this burger seems great, finally!" Alfred shouted, smiling like a baby in front of the enormous burger and the good amount of French Fries on his plate. "There are a lot of weird things inside though… Is that what real salad looks like?"

Arthur didn't answered, the eyes locked down on his very own plate. A salmon fillet was only waiting for him, with a few vegetables on the side of the plate and a little jar of white sauce.

He won't like it.

With hesitation, he took a little piece of salmon on his fork, and dunked it in the sauce, before putting it in his mouth.

It was like his taste buds were blowing up.

All those new flavours, those spices, this baking. He could taste the sea, the net where the salmon was kept prisoner, the ice where it was lying, the iron of the knife that cut it and the Teflon of the pan. He could also taste the same love for good food, well-done work and pleasing customers he could found in the veal chop… The veal chop seemed so far away now, he forget all its real flavours because of the number he ate… He just needed time to fully enjoy it again, that was sure… But this salmon… it was made by a true genius.

He was in love with this salmon. But he was also in love with the veal chop. Like he was in love with this place, and in love with the coffee here, and in love with the wonderful Dame Blanche they served. He was also in love with the pretty waitresses and the nice waiters, and of course. He was in love with the genius they used as a cook.

And nothing else mattered, not even Alfred or the man in a white blouse standing next to the table.

"Uhm, excuse me… I'm the cook. So, you're the one always ordering veal, hein? I'm truly sorry for your inconvenience today and I hope you still enjoy your meal…"

Arthur turned his head toward the newcomer, and said mindlessly:

"I love you."  
"_Quoi_?"

Arthur didn't answered, and rather really watched him. Blond hair, tied in a ponytail. Three-days beard, straight nose. His mouth was a little bit opened, like if he was cut off in midstream. And his cheeks that seemed so soft became slowly pink.

And his eyes. Oh, those eyes. Blue, so blue. Reflecting the love and the care he transmitted in his food. And locked in Arthur's. He was looking at Arthur like Arthur was looking at him, it was sure.

"I…" began the Englishman.  
"Je… euh…"  
"Oh fuck one of you will speak already it's becoming seriously boring."

Arthur coughed loudly and quickly turned towards Alfred, shining like a red light.

"Fuck off Alfred! You just _can't _come and get in the way of love at first sight you wanker!"  
"What it was love? You just looked at each other with this stupid look on the face! That's not love!"

The cook coughed too, and turned his eyes, before saying:

"Hum… So I… I hope you liked the salmon…"  
"Well it… Didn't worth the veal chop. At all. But I guess it was… Edible." Arthur answered, looking in the street.  
"Well, as long as you enjoyed it…"  
"Yes, yes…"  
"So I guess I will go back in the kitchen…"  
"Erh... A… Yes if course."  
"Don't hesitate to call me if you have any problem, hein?"  
"Oh, yes, maybe… Mmh… Actually, I have one… What do you do tonight?" Arthur shamefully asked.  
"Nothing… Why?"  
"I guess I could need... Mmh… Private cooking lessons… Maybe…"  
"I think I can handle it… Just ask Elizaveta, she'll give you my number, mmh? And… Francis Bonnefoy, by the way."  
"I'll do. And… Arthur Kirkland. So… Euhm… See you tonight I guess…"  
"Yes… tonight…"

And with that, the cook almost ran in the kitchen, letting an overly red British man and an overly lost American behind him.

"He looks weird." Alfred commented. "You really will take cooking lessons?"  
"You're stupid or what?"

The American only shrugged, and finished his burger. He was really happy to not be Arthur, sometimes.


End file.
